


Independence

by loving-the-stars-themselves (youandmeotp)



Category: Class (TV 2016), Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fourth of July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youandmeotp/pseuds/loving-the-stars-themselves
Summary: Missy takes Quill to see the 4th of July fireworks.





	Independence

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic on AO3, and I'm very excited to be here. The other day I got to see some very beautiful fireworks for Independence Day, and that plus my newfound obsession with Quissy has inspired this fic. I'm not entirely sure how this fits in with canon, but a) Quill still has the arn in her head, b) Missy has a Tardis, and c) the two of them have been seeing each other for some time. Hope you enjoy, and please leave comments!

Quill would be surprised if Missy showed up on her doorstep. After the horrendous week she’s had, Quill has no expectations that things will get any better. It is a Thursday evening, and she walks through the doorway to her house, happy to get away from the school. It’s so full of...humans. She flops onto her bed, resigning herself to a night of indulging in crisps and her latest fascination, reality TV. Unbeknownst to her, the night’s plans are about to change.

Just as she’s getting settled in, a loud whooshing sound fills the room, making Quill jump. Within a matter of seconds, an armoire has materialized in her bedroom like it had been there the whole time. The door swings open, coming dangerously close to slicing into Quill’s leg on the edge of the bed. And in the doorway? None other than the Mistress herself, leaning sultrily against the frame of the faux wardrobe. She was always one to make an entrance.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Quill asks, shocked at the sudden appearance of her...whatever Missy was.

“Not even a hello for your favorite woman?” Missy remarks, clicking her tongue. “Blimey, the service here has really gone downhill.”

“Oh, you are  _ so _ not my favorite woman right now,” Quill retorts.

“And I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,” Missy quips, not losing a beat. “Well, what are you still sitting there for? Get up, get ready, I’m taking you on an adventure.”

Missy reaches for Quill’s hand, but Quill protests, “No, no, Missy I've had an awful week, can I not just have one night of peace and relaxation? I've spent the past three days catering to the little Prince’s beck and call, and the idiot teenagers around here keep attracting trouble. And on top of that, I have tests to grade! I’m telling you, the last thing I need right now is to go on a crazy adventure with a maniac like you.”

“Oh, darling,” Missy coos. She smooths Quill’s hair down and rests her hands on the woman’s sharp jaw, which is clenched tightly. “I’m certainly sorry to hear you’ve been having such a tough time. But trust me, tonight isn't going to be crazy. It'll be relaxing. I have the perfect plan.”

Quill frowns, but she knows that one look into Missy’s big blue eyes strips her of all her free will. And when Missy holds her head in her hands like that, soft and tender and caring, she can't look away. Oh, she hates that she craves Missy’s touch. She hates how helpless she makes her feel. Yet whenever she’s with Missy, she always feels something that’s somewhat more pleasant than hatred. 

“Fine,” Quill grumbles. 

Missy’s face lights up, and she gives Quill’s cheeks an enthusiastic squeeze. “Great! Come on, let's go.” She scurries back into her TARDIS, leaving the blonde woman looking forlornly after her. 

“Where are we going? What do I need to wear?” Quill calls.

“Oh, what you've got on is fine,” Missy replies, sticking her head back out the door. “But, em, make sure you put on some sandals.” With that, she disappears.

Quill gets up and walks over to her closet.  _ Which one of these things is a sandal? _

* * *

When Quill steps into the bureau, having slipped on what she thinks is a sandal, she looks around the TARDIS. Every time Missy picks her up, the interior looks a bit different. She can't help but wonder how long it is for Missy between their meetings. But she doesn't have a chance to process it for too long before she is slammed back against the inside of the door. “Wh-mmph.” Missy silences her protests with a rough kiss. Quill tries to resist, but melts into her lips.

“Oh, how lovely it is to see you again,” Missy moans against her mouth. One hand pins Quill’s shoulder to the wall, the other runs through her silky hair. Missy has never felt anything softer than Quill’s hair, and it never fails to astound her.

They steal a few more quick kisses and Quill starts to think that maybe her week hasn't been that bad after all. Just when she's just starting to get into it, though, Missy pulls away. “All right, let's get a move on, no time to waste. No dilly-dallying.” She saunters over to the center console. 

Quill leans against the door, flustered. “Isn't this a time machine?” she pants. “Why does it matter when we leave?”

“Well, because, dear,” Missy responds, “you're tired and I don't want to keep you out too long.”

“Always looking out for me,” Quill deadpans.

“I am,” Missy says genuinely. Quill can feel her heart thumping in her chest.

Quill walks up the ramp, still disoriented from all that kissing ( _ all that kissing _ ), and Missy pulls some levers and pushes some buttons, eliciting an enormous racket. After a moment, the TARDIS seems to have settled down. Missy looks at Quill, awaiting her reaction. There are a million questions on Quill’s lips, but none of them form into words, so all she can do is let Missy take her by the hand and lead her outside.

Before they get to the door, Missy stops. “Wait one second, almost forgot something.” She grabs a bag hanging from the railing. “Okay, now we’re ready.” 

Quill isn’t nervous. No way. She’s prepared for anything. But there are butterflies in her stomach.  _ Just what I need,  _ she thinks.  _ Another foreign creature inhabiting my body. _ The butterflies come around every time she goes somewhere with Missy, but she chalks it up to an effect of the time travel.

When they step outside, it’s suddenly warm. Much warmer than Quill was expecting. She rolls up the sleeves of her button down shirt, but notices that Missy still has on her impossibly many layers of clothing, and suddenly feels more vulnerable. She starts to roll her sleeves back down, but Missy grabs her wrist, stopping her short. “No, keep them up,” Missy instructs. “You have nice arms.” Quill yanks her arm back and cradles it protectively. Missy only shrugs.

The next thing Quill becomes aware of is the grainy feeling of sand slipping between her toes. “What the hell, what good are these sandal things anyway? They just let everything get all over your feet, you might as well not be wearing shoes!” she exclaims.

“Well you can take them off if you like. Some people think walking across the beach barefoot is quite nice,” Missy informs her. So Quill slips off her shoes and carries them in one hand, reaching out for Missy’s with the other. Only because there was no one she knew here, and she’d never see any of these people again. Only because she knew Missy liked to hold hands, and not because she wanted it herself.

Together, the two of them walk about half a mile down the beach. Missy seems to glide effortlessly across the sand, her long black skirt just skimming the surface. Finally, they reach Missy’s intended spot. “Why here?” Quill asks. “This looks the same as the other part of the beach.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Missy pulls out a blanket from her bag and lays it on the ground. “Here, make yourself comfortable, Andra’ath.” Quill sits down hesitantly on the blanket, with her legs out in front of her. “Oh no, that won’t do,” Missy says immediately. So she sits down herself and offers her lap for Quill to put her head in. 

“No, thanks,” Quill declines. “That’s a bit...romantic, don’t you think?”

“Well, if we’re to be girlfriends, then I don't think it's too much to ask.” She pats her thighs again. Quill definitely doesn't think they look inviting. Not at all.

“You're not my girlfriend. And I am most definitely not yours,” Quill argues.

“Then what are we, dearest? This has been going on for months now. Me popping up at your doorstep-”

“Or  _ in my room _ ,” interjects Quill.

“-and whisking you off somewhere fun. Holding hands, kissing, and sometimes even more, if you're lucky. Those are the kinds of things girlfriends do. What else would you call us? Repeated acquaintances? Friends with benefits? Just ‘gals being pals’? Oh, oh, I thought of one I like: lovers. Yes I like that one quite a lot.”

“We’re not lovers, because I don't love you.”

“You sure make love to me well for someone who doesn't love me,” Missy gloats.

“Look, this is...it’s...okay, I don't know. I don't know what to call this. Do we have to call it anything? All I know is that I kind of like-”

“Spending time with me?” Missy completes her sentence.

“What I was going to say,” Quill continues through gritted teeth, “is not being alone. I like not being alone.” Her voice trails off at the end. She doesn't like admitting that she needs someone. She's always been strong and independent, and that admission would be a sign of weakness she can't afford.

“I have to agree,” Missy says. “I think we've both had our fair share of being alone. Together we don't have to be.” She taps her legs yet again. “Come on, lie down,” she implores. “You'll have a good view.”

“A good view of what?”

“Wait and see! I've told you that already. Impatient, aren't you?” 

As Quill lays her head against Missy’s legs, she hears clinking and a pop, followed by a gushing sound. She looks up and finds the Time Lady has poured them each a glass of something bubbly. “Is this fancy?” Quill asks, gingerly picking up the glass by the stem.

“Oh, it's quite fancy. Have you ever had champagne?” Quill shakes her head. “Well, you'll like it, I'm sure. It's one of the things I have definitely grown a taste for in my time on Earth. I think they call this one Krug Champagne Vintage Brut.” Missy is reading off the bottle. “It was made in the year 2020. I popped over to 2040 myself and brought it back, since they said it was the prime aging time. It's supposed to be quite expensive, but I managed to get a bit of a discount. So drink up.”

The two women clink glasses and take sips of the delicate drink. Quill feels her taste buds come alive. It's as if there are hints of a hundred different flavors just in that single sip, and they all synthesized to make the perfect drink. She marvels at the ability of humans to make something as simple as drink into something so complex.

“Like it?” Missy asks, eyebrow raised.

“Mmhm,” Quill replies, taking another sip. Then they both put their glasses down in little divots in the sand.

The sky has gotten darker, and Missy’s senses heighten.  _ Any minute now... _

“If you won't tell me what we're doing, will you at least tell me what the date is? Or where we are?” Quill persists. The humidity is starting to get to her head. Or maybe it’s the drink. She can’t seem to decide whether she’s still annoyed or if she’s content and comfortable.

With a quick glance at her watch to make sure she'd gotten the correct point in time, Missy replies, “It doesn't really matter where we are. It's some beach in America. July 4, 2018.”

“America,” remarks Quill. “This might be the craziest of all the places you’ve taken me.” She points to a group of six chubby twenty-something guys who are just now rowdily entering the beach, all with American flags painted across their upper bodies. One of them gets thumped on the back by another, and he spills his beer, blurring a row of stars into a gross painty smudge.

“I won’t deny that the country itself is a little...out there, but we aren’t in for any nuisance from anyone.” Missy checks her watch again. “Oh, it’s about to start!” she says. She squeezes Quill’s hand excitedly. 

Sure enough, precisely three seconds later, the sky erupts in color. Quill doesn’t startle, even with the crashing boom that sounds shortly afterward. She simply watches. Watches as little streams of colored fire float down through the air. First red, then white, then blue. It finally dawns on her. “American Independence Day,” she says under her breath.

And suddenly she feels sad. The sadness comes to her in a way it never has before. It’s not like the sadness she felt when her sister died on Rhodia, or the man she loved. That kind of pain was all-consuming, body racked with sobs, unable to breathe. This new kind of sadness just floats in, like a cloud of smoke, and plants itself deep within her brain. It’s not something she feels with any intensity, but it takes its place in every feeling she feels. 

_ Boom! Boom! Boom! _ Three golden explosions fill the air, one after another. She wants to reach out and grab one, hoping that maybe the fire will give her back something she lost. The light eludes her. 

Quill is aware of Missy. Missy’s left hand resting on her lower arm, thumb tracing small circles on the bare skin. Missy’s right hand toying with her hair. Missy’s eyes watching over her. Missy’s breathing, swelling and contracting her whole body in the slightest way. Reminding her that she is alive. It’s been a long time since Quill cared for somebody who was alive.

Missy takes another sip of her champagne. “Which is your favorite kind of firework?” she asks. “I like that one, look it’s a smiley face. How cute. Almost as cute as a pony. I do wish I had a pony. Have you ever had a pony? They’re fantastically fun creatures.” Quill takes note of Missy’s tendency to ramble even more than usual after drinking this bubble-stuff.

“This one’s my favorite,” Quill answers as the sky explodes in white. “It’s interesting, the way it seems to move toward you, instead of just falling down. It’s like a thousand galaxies, zooming toward you all at once.” Sadness, the sadness is still there.

Sensing something wrong, Missy leans closer. “What is it, dearest? What’s the matter?”

Quill doesn’t respond. She quietly watches the fireworks above for a full minute. Then, out of nowhere, she breaks the silence. “Missy, are you happy?”

“Why the serious tone, darling? Come on now, enjoy the light show.”

“No, no, I mean it. Are you happy?” Quill enunciates her words slowly.

Missy considers this. “Happy?” she says after a moment. “I haven’t been entirely happy for a long time, no. It’s lonely being me, which I’m sure you understand. Not only am I one of only two left of my entire race, but to make matters worse, the other one left simply and truly hates me. More often than not I find myself alone. That said, I do have happy moments. My happiest moments are when I’m with you.”

Quill doesn’t know whether or not she should be surprised by this, but she is. “See, the thing is,” she continues, “I want to be happy when I’m with you. What you’ve done for me tonight, this is amazing. I’m trying to be happy, but it’s like something is holding me back. Like I can never be completely happy, because the sadness keeps leaking in.”

“Well, I imagine you’re lonely, too. The last Quill in the universe.”

“It’s not just that, though,” Quill counters. “I’m used to being alone now. In a way, I’ve been alone since the day I was born. I never had a mother to protect me. I’ve always had to fend for myself. I’m okay being on my own. But...well, at least, I think...god, why is it so hard to say this? I think I’m sad because I can’t be free.”

“You mean because of your enslavement,” Missy says. It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes, for sure, but it’s also more than that. I spent my life training to be a soldier, and I was the best Freedom Fighter Rhodia ever saw. If a wimpy little army could get  _ this _ place free, why couldn’t I do that for my people? Freedom is all I ever wanted, and it’s the one thing I very decidedly do not have.” 

Quill pauses, taking a few deep breaths. “Even when I’m with you, I don’t feel free. I don’t know why, but you make me powerless. Whatever you want me to do, I always end up doing it. Why is that?”

“I think it might be called being in love,” Missy replies.

Quill would normally bristle at this, but she actually pauses to consider it. “Are you in love with me?” she asks.

“Why, yes.”

“Then why do you still seem to have control of yourself? If me feeling so helpless is what love is, then why isn't it like that for you?”

“Oh, but it is. Haven't you seen it? Me whisking you off places is my way of showing how much I care. In fact, the whole reason we’re here is that I can't help but put you first. Here, sit up for a second.”

Quill sits up, knees bent in front of her. Missy points up at the night sky where another one of Quill’s favorite fireworks was just exploding. “Like you said, the galaxies are zooming towards us, thousands at a time, getting closer and closer. I want to take you to every one of them, show you every single star. You feel trapped, but all I want is to give you free access to any place or time you want. You're only as trapped as I am.”

“So you mean….” Quill’s voice has grown small. “You can give me back my independence?”

Missy mirrors Quill’s position, folding her legs in front of her. She leans her head against Quill’s shoulder and throws her arms around her waist. “If what you want is to be free, then that is what I want as well,” she declares.

Quill swallows. “I can't decide if I want to kiss you or punch you for being so damn sentimental.”

“Oh kiss me, definitely,” Missy replies, lifting her head up to meet Quill’s. Their lips come together tentatively and softly.

“I think I might love you, but I’m afraid to. I've lost everyone I've loved so far, and even the strongest of warriors can only take so much loss.”

“You won't lose me, Andra’ath. In fact, you won't be able to get rid of me,” Missy says with a smirk that is lost to the darkness.

The sky begins to burst with even more intensity than before, one firework after another after another. Red, white, and blue, interspersed with silver and gold. The explosions are cacophonous, but to Quill they sound like a symphony. Maybe tonight, amongst all the chaos, she can really begin to feel at peace.

“Happy Independence Day,” she whispers to Missy. 

Quill doesn't expect her to hear it through all the noise, but after a moment Missy replies, “Happy Independence Day to you, my darling.”

They sit together for a few minutes as the smoke fades, sipping champagne and savoring being part of the other’s loneliness. Quill takes Missy’s hand, knowing now that it's because she wants to, and she doesn't care who sees. “Can I tell you something before we go?” she asks.

“Anything.”

“Just because I love you doesn't mean you're going to get away with all that cuddling business.”

Missy plants a big sloppy kiss on Quill’s cheek, wrapping her arms loosely around her neck. “We’ll just see about that.”


End file.
